


Undone

by chzo_mythos



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Double Penetration, Flogging, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>x--riddlemethis on tumblr requested Riddlecrow double penetration with flogging. So here it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

“I think” Jonathan mumbles one day, pacing the length of Edward’s living room,

“That I’d like to hurt you more.”

Edward’s ears perk up. He’s lying face down on the Chesterfield, trousers undone and slung low around his hips, suit jacket and shirt discarded long ago. At the mention of more pain, the muscles of his back twitch, sending a searing fire across the newly formed scratches. 

“Yes.” He says in reply.

Jonathan is especially good at dealing out pain. That’s not to say Edward _isn’t_ , because that would be the lie of the century. But, well, in terms of people that Edward likes getting hurt by; Jonathan is definitely in the top ten. 

Okay, top three. 

Number one. 

There are rules, obviously. Even though Jonathan thinks, in a slightly twisted sense which makes his stomach knot up in a way he isn’t sure if he enjoys, Edward would do whatever Jonathan demanded. But Jonathan put his foot down—literally, actually, grinding the sole of his shoe in to Edward’s back until he agreed that ‘ _shit, shit, okay fine, I agree to your stupid rules, just get off me you insufferable clot!_ ’. 

“Stand up and strip” Jonathan barks, breaking Edward from his chance. In a pathetic way that he’ll chastise himself for later, Eddie scrambles up and shucks his trousers down, stepping out of them, but does nothing else. Johnny didn’t tell him to move, he wont move. Jonathan smirks at that. “In the doorframe, pet. Hold tight.”

Calmly as he can be, Edward’s bare feet pad the seemingly mile-long distance to the doorframe of his bedroom (no matter how much he’d like it to be ‘theirs’). He keeps his legs on the living room side of the door and spreads his legs, turning his feet slightly so that the inside part of the arches are pressed against the trim of the doorframe. His hands, predictably, he reaches high above his head, so far that his skin is stretched taut over his bones, and gripping the sides of the frame so hard his knuckles are white. And, with bated breath, he waits. He wants to look over his shoulder, see what Jonathan is getting from the kit on the coffee table, but he hasn’t been given permission, so instead he only stares blankly in to his bedroom. 

With a small content sigh, Jonathan cracks his knuckles, both as a show and as an actual need, and revels in the shiver it sends down Edward’s spine. “Remember the safe word, dear.” He says passively, digging through the contents of the duffle bag, the nickname only said in condescension. The safe word, ‘conundrum’, has never been used, and Jonathan doesn’t think Edward would use it even if he ever did want to stop. The thought causes a fire to stir in his belly, but he refuses to acknowledge it, instead he picks up the riding crop from the bottom of the bag, testing it with a light slap against his hand before rolling his shoulders back and moving to Edward. 

He doesn’t give any warning, he much prefers when the blows come unexpectedly, and he knows that Edward does too. He hits once, Edward letting out a small squeak—which he’ll later vehemently deny he made—before stroking the leather almost tenderly over the quickly reddening skin. Even though Edward knows it’s an act, knows what’s coming, he twists his hips wantonly, arching until Johnny brings the crop down against the small of his back. Edward sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and nods understandingly, taking the small second Jonathan offers to him to resituate himself, curling and uncurling his fingers, before nodding again. The noise Jonathan makes isn’t one of approval necessarily, but it’s enough right now. 

Jonathan has a heavy and precise swing when he gets going, and the only warning Edward receives is the small sound of the crop cutting through the air right before it hits his skin with a severe sting. His swings are faster and careless, crisscrossing up and down Eddie’s back until he’s a mess of warmth and pain, rocking onto his toes to press up into it, offering himself up to the pain like some sort of sacrifice, ready to be slaughtered to please his God. 

He moans aloud when Johnny stills.

“Don’t stop,” he begs, “please Johnny. Don’t stop.”

The taller man frowns and his eyes grow dark, but he refuses to let Scarecrow out here. This is his and his alone. 

“Never tell me what to do, Edward.”

Edward opens his mouth to protest, to say he was begging, not demanding, please don’t be mad, please, please, please—but he doesn’t get the chance, Jonathan tossing the riding crop harshly to the floor and shoving Edward forward. The rogue stumbles, partially from the surprise and partially from the new pain along his backside. 

“Bed. Face down, hips up.” Jonathan orders simply, before turning around and going back to the duffle bag, trusting Edward to follow his orders. And that trust has not been misplaced, as Edward once again scrambles in to position, not even grabbing a few pillows because Jonathan hadn’t said he could. When the other man comes up behind him, he spreads his legs as wide as he can without jeopardizing his balance and tries to ignore the nearly crippling curiosity that niggles at the back of his mind when he feels Jonathan set something down next to his leg. He can hear Johnny squirting lube on to his fingers, but there’s still a somewhat heavy object next to him, meaning that the tube is in the other man’s hands still. His brows furrow as he tries to figure out what it is, only for his eyes to go wide, before they flutter shut as Jonathan traces the tip of one around the edge his hole several times before pushing it in. Edward roughly exhales and preens, arching his back and presenting himself. Jonathan would have hit him if he wasn’t slightly preoccupied. He adds another finger not long after, and Edward barely has time to register the sharp burn before it turns in to a spike of pleasure when the pads of the other man’s fingers brush over his prostate. Jonathan hunches over to nip at the skin of Edward’s hip, next to a particularly vicious welt, as yet another finger works its way in, three of them pumping out the gasping form of the high and mighty Riddler. And then, after a few moments of prep, which Edward is immensely thankful for, Jonathan removes the digits. Again, Edward wants to protest, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

“I want to see you take all of it” Jonathan rasps out, reaching for the object, and it’s then Edward realizes what it is. A dildo—which, were he in his right state of mind, would have been obvious to him before, but at this point he can barely remember his own name, much less the contents of the duffle bag. As soon as the head of it is pressed against him, he knows which one it is. Hand blown glass, customized purple and green. He’d bought it years ago, before they’d even met in Arkham, and when Jonathan had found it, which was not that long after they’d become friends, really, Edward had tried to pass it off as a joke, something Query gave to him one year for his birthday, but Jonathan just smirked knowingly. Edward shivers. 

“What’s your safe word?” Jonathan asks absently, easing the dildo in to the other man. Edward knows what he’s doing, giving the shorter rogue something to concentrate on other than the stretch. 

“C-con-u-nd-druuumm”

Jonathan hums. 

“There’s a good pet.”

Edward lets the compliment wash over him and revels in it, and he has to resist the urge to preen once more, to say ‘ _yes Jon, yes I’m good, please tell me I’m good, tell me I’m good and brilliant and yours’_. 

There’s a moment of tense silence, and it’s only then that Edward realizes the toy is all the way inside him. It’s about the same girth as Jonathan, though about an inch shorter, and God, it feels amazing. Jonathan doesn’t wait either, snapping Edward from his pleasure-induced daze when he shifts the object inside him minutely, thrusting it just so. Edward groans, waits a second, and does it again when he isn’t reprimanded, letting his head hang down and his eyes clench shut, mouth agape. When his eyes do open, when Jonathan thrusts the toy back in he can see his cock, jutting up and leaking hard against his stomach—and rather than thinking about getting off, his mind immediately goes to Jon, and how the other man is still in his trousers and shirt. Hell, even his socks are still on. Edward’s brows furrow. Is Jonathan not getting off on this? Edward sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes widen. Is he not being good enough? Is he not attractive? Edward sighs. 

“Johnny?”

There’s no response.

“Johnny, are you—”

“Shut up” is the hissed reply. 

“Please, Jonathan, are you—”

This time the reply is accompanied by a sharp slap to the top of his thigh. “Shut. Up.”

“ _Areyounotaroused?_ ”

There’s another pause, and Edward can feel his whole world shattering around him. After a moment, Jonathan sighs and Edward can feel him shift on the bed, pressing his groin to Eddie’s hip and— _oh_. Yes, he’s still fully clothed, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t aroused. Not in the fucking slightest. “Oh” Edward gasps, swallowing hard. “That must be painful…”

Jonathan smirks. “Worth it.” He replies, getting right back to business with the dildo. 

It doesn’t take long until Edward is white-knuckling it, gritting his teeth and letting out these pathetic little whimpers, and he’s about to open his mouth and beg to come, until he feels pressure next to the base of the dildo. He exhales a shuddering breath as Jonathan pushes in a finger alongside the toy. 

“Remember your safeword?” The taller man asks, not bothering to stop his ministrations. Edward only nods. “Think you can take me, too?” He gives another nod, and then a cry as Jonathan pushes another finger in, and then one more moments later, and God, he feels so full. It hurts, of course, but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever felt before, and just the thought of having Jonathan inside him, with the dildo, it makes it all totally worth it. 

He repeats a few different equations in his head, philosophic teachings, as well as maze routes and this morning’s crossword. Hell, he’s reciting Shakespeare, Wilde, and even Joyce (he knows Johnny’d appreciate that), anything to distract him from the pain. It’s not until there’s a gentle hand on his back and he can feel the rough metal of zipper scrape against his thigh, and. Wow. He’s in. They’re in. Everything is. In. It still hurts a little bit, though it’s mostly numb, and Edward feels like he’s lost time now, each second felt like an hour, and Jonathan has been prepping him for this for at least 20 minutes—which, he muses absently, is 1200 hours, which is 50 days. He’s been in bed for 50 days. 

But they did it. They’re here, and yet Jonathan is still suspiciously quiet. 

“J-Johnny?” Edward pants out. 

The other man lets out a shaky breath of his own and leans down, Edward groans as that causes a shift inside him, and rests his forehead against Eddie’s spine. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice nothing more than a rasp. Edward may feel full, but Jonathan feels pressure like he’s never felt before, verging on painful, but it’s so fucking god. 

“Yes.” Edward answers slowly, with a brief nod, even though he knows Jonathan can’t even really see it.

“How does it feel?” 

“F-full.” Edward says, “…n…never been s-so full.”

“Good.” Jonathan murmurs, shifting his hips and moving as best he can. This would have been easier, he thinks, with some sort of harness, to keep the dildo inside of Edward. Of course, he could have another person here as well, which would make this far easier, but no, never. For the same reason he wont even let Scarecrow in on this. He’s the only one allowed to see Edward come apart this way. 

The smaller man’s arms shake and with a particularly hard thrust, they give out, and he falls face first on to the bed, though his hips remain up, albeit with some help from Jonathan’s rough grip on them as he pulls him back against his thrusts. Edward shifts his weight on to one arm and uses the other to reach down, fingertips skimming his abdomen. 

“C-can I? P-p-please, Jon?” 

Jonathan lets out a somewhat barking laugh and leans down again; biting and sucking at all the skin he can reach, creating a pattern of welts, old and new, and teeth marks. Edward takes that as a yes and shifts again, letting out a feral sounding moan when he finally, _finally_ , touches his cock, and all it takes is a few strokes, fleeting touches, before he’s coming in thick ropes across his stomach. His muscles clench and Jonathan hisses as the already tight orifice becomes momentarily tighter and, _fuck_. True, Edward’s been on the edge for a lone while, but Johnny’s been right there with him, and similarly it takes a few flexes of his hips before he’s releasing too, with an admittedly undignified noise that, much like his partner, he’ll deny he made after the fact. 

He slows the stuttering motions of his hips and after a while he finally pulls out, easing the toy out as well. And now without the other rogue to hold them, Edward’s legs do collapse, and suddenly he’s a sweaty, filthy mess on their sheets. And he’s never been happier.

Later, Jonathan will find the strength to get up, stumble in to the en suite and get a damp cloth to clean the mess Edward made on his stomach, along with the one Jonathan made, as well as his wounds. When Edward whines something about being careful, Jonathan scoffs and flicks the dirty cloth at him, snickering when Edward grimaces and tries to move away from the offending item, only to flinch in the process. They both know the game is over now. They both know it was a success. 

“Hmph” Edward exclaims, pulling a face that can only be described as crotchety. “You couldn’t be any more gauche if you _tried._ ” 

Jonathan merely rolls his eyes.


End file.
